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Road to Emmaus Douglas Strachan window Kilbrandon ChurchWhat a night last night was.  That road was long and dusty our hearts were weary after the events of the past three days, we just wanted to get home have a bite to eat and sleep in our own beds.  Well I say sleep but we were scared so maybe sleep wouldn’t have been easy to come by.

I had rolled my eyes at Cleopas when that stranger joined us on the road, it was the last thing I wanted, someone barging their way in and stopping our conversation.  For it was a dangerous time and things that needed to be spoken were risky to speak of in an outsiders earshot but we so wanted to speak of them.  Maybe if we voiced them they wouldn’t seem so fanciful, maybe if the words were real the death would be less so, maybe Peter’s story would make more sense if we talked it through.

Cleopas ignored my eye roll and asked the stranger to join us, whispering to me that we were supposed to love the foreigner in our midst and welcome them as our own.  I sighed, the stranger smiled at me and I found myself smiling back.

He spoke in a way I had never heard anyone speak before.  His voice we gentle yet peircing, he spoke with authority yet as if he was my kid sister, his words old and yet new and fresh.

I felt so stupid when he broke that bread, why hadn’t we realised.  Jesus vanished before we could ask him anything, before we could urge him to come back with us to Jerusalem.  Our feet which had been sore, our legs which had ached, our hearts which had been heavy all the way from Jerusalem now were like those of two young boys as we rushed back to tell everyone.

When we burst through the door the disciples faces were painted with fear, we hadn’t meant to scare them we were just so excited to tell them all that had happened.  If Cleopas hadn’t ducked that pot Paul threw would have hit him on the head, although I don’t think an old clay pot would have stopped a cohort of Romans had it really been them storming in.  Paul’s apologies were drowned out by the gabble of words that came tumbling out of Cleopas and my mouths.  Before we knew it all of us were laughing with joy.  Of course Peter knew what he had seen but the relief on his face was a picture, he must have been wondering if he had been hallucinating.  Certainly in the days that followed we would all be accused of that, but we understood, we had all had our Thomas moment.  Poor Thomas it would only be his that would stick, yet he hadn’t doubted any more than any of us certainly no more than me on that road.  I will never forget that night, but I wish I could have it over and this time, next time I would know him, I would recognise him, I would truly I would.

 

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